The Perfect Holiday

“Well I can’t take it,” Seth said, hands up, his head moving from side to side. “Wilma’s allergic.”

“Well I can’t take a dog to Iraq, Uncle Seth.”

“Well, maybe you can find it a good home.”

“Shit,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. I’d been up for two days and my exhaustion was catching up with me. “Where is this dog?”

“When your mama died I boarded her at Doc Bates’ place.”

“Doc Bates?”

“The vet. Bought out old Doc Anderson a year or so ago.”

“Okay, I’ll call them and deal with it.”

“She’s a sweet dog,” Seth said. “Make you a good pet.”

I ignored him and started down the hallway. There were three bedroom doors and a bathroom at the end. The door to mama’s room on the right was closed. So was the door to Kenny’s room on the left. My room was the last one on the left. I pushed open the door and looked inside. Nothing had changed. The same bed and bedspread. The same posters on the wall. The same little desk in front of the window where I tried to do my homework in between getting the shit beat out of me.

“I’m tired, Uncle Seth,” I said. “I’m gonna crash for a few hours. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, son,” he said, patting me on the back. “I’m glad you’re home.” He waited for me to say, “Me, too…” but I didn’t. I just went into the room and closed the door.

CHAPTER 10: Shane

When you’re a SEAL, you learn to sleep wherever and whenever you can. Some missions required us to stay awake for days, while others were over in just a few minutes and we were back on the choppers or in the boat heading back to camp. I’d slept in the back of Humvees as they rolled across the Iraqi desert, in troop transport planes flying over the ocean in the middle of the night, in speedboats skipping down the black surface of a Columbian river, in foxholes, burned out buildings, in trees, in ditches, and only occasionally, in a cot or a bed.

I also had the ability to wake myself up on a dime and come up fighting if need be. You never knew when some asshole was gonna try to sneak up on you and blow your brains out or slit your throat while you slept. Sleeping with one eye open, they called it, so you didn’t die in your sleep of unnatural causes.

I could usually sleep like a baby regardless of where I was and what dangers there might be. But not here. Not in this house. Not in this room. Not in this bed. Here, ghosts haunted my dreams.

I could hear the sound of my father’s heavy footsteps as he stumbled down the hall toward my room.

I could hear him cursing me under his breath, working himself into a rage before he kicked the door in and barreled inside.

I could hear my mother’s muted screams, begging him not to hit me again.

I could hear Kenny’s skull cracking open like a ripe melon as it hit the windshield of my mother’s Chrysler.

They weren’t dreams.

They weren’t even nightmares.

They were my reality.

* * *

As I did for the first eighteen years of my life, I woke up curled into a defensive ball facing the bedroom door. I always woke up like this when I slept in this room, curled into a tight ball to ward off the blows that came in my dreams, regardless of how I went to sleep. Some mornings I woke up stiff and sore because my muscles were so tight. I’d have to literally roll out of the bed, lay on the floor, and stretch out my limbs before getting up and getting ready for school.

I startled myself awake, though I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming. I sat up and looked around for a moment, trying to remember where I was and why I was there. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared at the Dallas Cowboys poster on the wall next to the door, a young Tony Romo raring back to throw another touchdown bomb. There was another poster of Jason Witten diving over the pile to make the winning score. The Cowboys were my solace back then. I could get lost in the game, pretending to be Tony Romo as I went into the huddle with my high school team. It was the only thing I looked forward to … well… other than spending time with Annabel. But I royally fucked that up, so… yeah…

I rolled off the bed and stood with my back straight, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. It was hot in the old house. The air conditioner was ancient and had barely worked ten years ago. Great, just something else that would have to be taken care of if I wanted to get the place sold. Maybe I’d find someone who wanted to just buy the place cheap “as is” and flip it. If not, I was gonna have to sink a ton of money in it to get it up to snuff. I knew there was no big inheritance coming my way. Uncle Seth told me mom had a burial policy that would cover those costs, but there was no life insurance or savings to pass on. Fortunately, the house was paid for, so maybe I’d make a few bucks. Honestly, I didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to the place. Like I told Uncle Seth, I could set fire to the place and walk away humming, get on a plane back to Afghanistan, and sleep like a motherfucking baby on the flight home.

I opened the bedroom door and stood still for a moment, listening. In my head, I could hear my old man yelling at my mother in the kitchen. I could hear her struggling to pacify him. I could hear him yelling my name. I shook the memories away and started down the hall.

Kenny’s room was next to mine. I stopped at the door and pushed it open. I waved away the cloud of hot air and dust that boiled out, then stepped inside.

Kenny’s room was exactly as it was the last night he had slept there more than ten years ago. He had the same bed, dresser, and desk setup that I did, only he had an old computer on the desk that dad bought him so he could play video games and get on the internet. I remembered the night dad brought it home and proudly presented it to him. Kenny beamed and asked me to help him set it up. I didn’t bother asking why I didn’t get a computer. I already knew the answer to that one.